The Red
by DoomDib777
Summary: Johnny goes out for a walk and runs in with some rude people. With his mission of emotional numbing, will he refrain from killing? A songfic written to Chevelle's "The Red." This summary sucks, I know


Hello all you peoples! *looks out into empty audience* Ahem...well this is my first fic EVER! So...forgive the horrible-ness.   
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jhonen does. Chevelle owns their song. I wish I owned some muffins. Now onto the fic! FWOOSH  
  
It was a cold night. Johnny was walking down the street, trying his hardest to ignore the chilled wind against his bare face. It was moments like this that made him wish that Senior Diablo would have let him keep that trenchcoat. He shivered and hugged his arms closer to him.  
  
*They say freak  
When you're singled out  
The red  
Well it filters through*  
  
"Look at him," a whisper from behind, followed by quiet giggles. "Can't even afford a jacket."  
  
Johnny walked faster. Normally, he would have killed them on the spot, but due to his mission of emotional numbing, he had to resist the voices in his head.  
  
'You're just gonna let them get away with making fun of you?' a disembodied voice questioned. Great...another voice to plague him. 'Come on! Just a couple of stabs. That's all it takes.'  
  
"No!" he yelled, unaware of how loud he sounded. "I'm not falling for whatever you're up to. I'm gonna fight, and I'm gonna win."  
  
The voice seemed to stare at him with puppy eyes, if voices could stare. 'Please Nny. For old times sake?'  
  
Johnny stopped dead in his tracks. For so long he had been used to be called Nny. Yet, for some reason, that name sounded unfamiliar and as cold as the streets he was walking along. He jumped back to reality when he heard more mocking behind him. "Now look. He's talking to himself." The group of jocks and cheerleaders, stuck within thier petty high school mentality, erupted in cackles.  
  
That was the last straw. No more Mr. Nice-Maniac. He fingered the knife in his backpack. He forgot entirely of his goal to wipe away emotion. Screw being emotionless. It was time for revenge. Johnny pounced on the crowd. They looked at him with fear-stricken eyes. Several tried to run, but Nny beheaded them with one clean swipe of the knife. Blood sprayed on the street, highlighting the asphalt with red.  
  
"Please," one of the group members, a blond cheerleader, wearing too much makeup, begged. There was a fakeness in her voice that only Johnny could sense, "don't kill us. We didn't mean it!"  
  
He advanced on them with the knife as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said. "Well," he hissed vehemently, "if you didn't mean it, then why'd you say it?"  
  
Tears ran down the girl's face, causing her mascara to stream down her cheeks in rivers."If we had known you's kill us, then we-"   
  
"You wouldn't have said it. Typical. There are no regrets for a crime unless DEATH is involved." The knife inched closer, blood dripping on the concrete.   
  
"Well-"  
  
"Silence!" the blade continued to move closer until it pierced flesh. Blood dribbled faster into a crimson puddle on the street. Johnny continued to force the knife deeper until it was fully submerged in the cheerleader's chest. Then, with one quick motion, the knife was removed, causing a river of blood to pool into a red sea. The cheerleader fell dead after letting out a hacking cough.  
  
*So lay down, the threat is real  
When his sight goes red again  
Seeing red again*  
  
"Who's next?" Nny looked to the trembling crowd. His face was splattered in blood, and the once-silver knife gleamed a brilliant ruby. He didn't hesitate to mercilessly slaughter each and every person who stood before him. Many onlookers stood horrified at the massacre before them. Some were at the point of tears. Johnny stood back to admire his work. The voice in his head cheered. People ran screaming for help, but he didn't notice. His mind was submerged in the dead victims before him. It felt so good to kill again. It felt so good to kill.   
  
Feelings. Desires. Wants. All things Johnny hated. Yet, here he stood feeling, desiring, wanting to kill. He had taken a step back from his mission to become emotionless.   
  
He once again was flung back to reality when another cold wind brushed against him. The blood was starting to pool at his feet. He had to get away from this. He had to get away from whatever made him FEEL. Without thinking any further, Johnny sprang into the crowd. They jumped back away from him, fearing that death would await them if they dared stand in his way. Police sirens droned along off in the distance. Nny didn't fear them, though. He was a waste lock. He couldn't die, he couldn't be killed. Hell, he was practically immortal.   
  
So why did he feel so weak?  
  
'No!' his mind screamed, 'Weakness is an emotion!'  
  
The voice in his head laughed maniacly. 'Not so tough, eh, Johnny boy? The thread is wearing thin! Soon we will reign control again.You can't win.'  
  
Nny kept running. Where? He didn't know. All he knew was that he had to get away.   
  
*The change  
He won't contain  
Slip away   
To clear your mind  
When asked   
Who made it show  
The truth  
He gives into most*  
  
He stopped before a run-down house bearing a worn 777 by the door. HIS house, to be exact. Within the walls lay levels of Hell unfathomable to even his mind. It was at this house that all the trouble, the killing, and the voices had begun.   
  
'Welcome home, Nny.' the voice beamed.   
  
Johnny didn't move. He merely stood in the street, looking at his surroundings. His neighbor, 'Squee', was sitting on the roof clutching a tattered teddy bear helplessly. The air was calm and quiet, free of most human life.  
  
The stillness was broken when a car came speeding down the road, nearly missing Johnny. It only slowed down to for a moment so the driver could yell "Watch where you're going ya skinny freak!"  
Nny clutched his fists in anger. They didn't seem to learn. No matter how much he killed, they still went out and made the same mistakes as the victims before them.  
  
The voice spoke up again. 'Whaddya say, Johnny? There are still some people in the basement..."  
  
This time Johnny didn't resist the offer. Quickly grasping the blood-encrusted knife from earlier, he headed inside.  
  
*So lay down, the threat is real  
When his sight goes red again  
Seeing red again*  
  
It seemed like hours before Johnny returned to the top level of his house. He was in need of bactine and a shower, but at the moment he didn't care. His own voice, probably the remains of Nailbunny, was screaming in the back of his mind.  
  
'Look what you've done! You let them regain control of you again! What about the mission to become emotionless? What about-'  
  
"Screw the mission," Nny said with a smile playing on his face, "I've got some 'guests' to kill."  
  
*They say freak  
When you're singled out  
And the red  
It filters through* 


End file.
